Estel Ná Qualin
by The Girl in the Red Jacket
Summary: "When you were in the presence of this mysterious creature you could not help but feel that something wonderful was just around the corner." AU
1. Chapter 1

Disclaimer: I do not own anything PR related. I do not own anything Elvish either. I do a copy of every CD Great Big Sea has put out and encourage others to buy them. :-) Gotta plug my all time fav group.  
  
Author's Note: My muse caught this rabid plot bunny about 4/5 days ago and it has botherred me since. Grrr. This fis is NOT a PR/LotRs crossover but it mention Elves and later uses Queyan, an Elvish dialect. Yes, my name is Jacks and I am an Elfoholic. It is a complete AU and any changes to characters are made on purpose. I know Tommy is a but OOC at the beginning, he has to be for the story to work. I know Jason's eyes aren't blue, I love his brown eyes they make him even more droolworthy, but for the sake of later things they have to be blue.   
  
And since I have quite a few other stories that are supposed to be being done before this one the amount I work on it will be directly related to the amount of feedback I get. It will be finished, my stupid muse won't let me abandon it, but chapters will come out faster if I know people want them! :-)  
  
The title, by the way, is Queyan and can be translated (loosely) into Hope is Dying. If anyone out there is a Tolkien fan and knows any form of Elvish *please* let me know. I stuck with other languages so my translations are not always on the mark.   
  
Estel Ná Qualin  
  
It was unusual for such a great clamour to go up within the halls of Daemon. The king ruled with an iron fist and he did not allow disorder in his halls unless he was the one causing it.   
  
It was not unusual for a new slave to be brought into the palace as slaves were being replaced or acquired all the time. The coming and going to dead or alive slaves rarely registered. They were not important enough to take notice of.  
  
This slave was different.  
  
It had been months since Daemon the King had set out looking for a tutor for his son. The young man was to become a proper warrior; the king would have no less. Many had been hired, or coerced, into teacher the prince but none had stayed. Whether they left on their on accord or were beheaded was not spoken about.  
  
Now the king had found a new teacher in the most unlikely place, a slave market.   
  
The man, who was being dragged along, his hands bound by rope that bit into his wrists, had caused a stir in the palace. He was unusual, judged thusly because of his look and the feel about him.   
  
Slaves were normally beaten down creatures that cringed away from most things and expected to be struck at any moment. They were dirty, thin, unremarkable beings that slipped in and out of the mind without leaving the slightest impression. They had no hope left, lived only because death would not find them, and it showed on their faces.   
  
It was hard to find such despair on the chiselled features of the man who walked into the palace, his head held high though he was bound as a slave. He was dirty, it was hard to avoid when one lived in such conditions as he had, and his clothes were tattered and unkempt but there was nothing unremarkable about him. To glimpse his face was to have it burned into your soul forever.   
  
He was lean but had the muscles and build of a fighter. His body bore visible scars but they did not mar his appearance, only gave him the look of a seasoned warrior and made him more handsome and mysterious. His hair was shaggy and fell about shoulders in dark waves, silky and soft to the touch despite the tangles and days without washing. His skin was pale but not sickly so, instead giving him an unworldly look, as if he were an angel among demons.   
  
But the most surprising, most stunning, most queer feature of this angel turned slave was his eyes.  
  
They were blue. But saying they were blue was like saying there is more than one star in the sky. The blue pools were ever changing. One moment they were like ice, cold and intense and staring straight through you. The next they were like the ocean, deep and dark and flecked with green. The next they were storm changed and the next they were clear as the summer sky and the next...It was a myriad of colours and emotions and power contained in a man made not for the life of a slave. They were the eyes of some mystical being that had been untouched until it lingered too long in the world.   
  
The man's face was expressionless as he was brought through the palace. His sharp eyes took in everything but betrayed nothing. No fear could be seen being carried on his body.   
  
It was an appearance no slave had made before upon entering those halls and the sense of a coming change flowed into the palace with this strange creature.   
  
It was not something the king or his kin celebrated.   
  
The prince was waiting for the arrival of his new instructor, malevolence in his brown eyes as he watched the new slave enter his new 'home'.   
  
The prince was every inch a royal, had been brought up to be superior. His straight, brown hair hung loose and tidy under his crown. His chocolate eyes were bitter and egotistical. His posture was confident, his build toned and his smile malicious.   
  
He was not one to take orders from a slave, even if the slave was supposedly a warrior meant to teach him how to fight.   
  
Still, the appearance of this man was frightening. If he had been a hired instructor the prince may have even had a grudging respect for him. But he was a slave, one who did not appear to know his place, and that made the prince angry and fearful.   
  
"My lord, this is the new slave, your new warrior instructor, his name is Jason..." One of the attendants who had brought the slave to the palace began.  
  
"I need not know his name; his is a slave, nothing more." The prince told them coldly. "His name matters not."   
  
He turned the slave, putting all the grandeur he could muster into his voice. It galled him that the slave did not cower in fear of him. "I am Prince Thomas. You will never address me as such but as ma..."  
  
"You are correct there. Prince is not a fit title for one such as you and Thomas is too noble a name to soil by associating it to you." Jason's deep voice, rich and soothing to the ears, interrupted. "I shall call you Isorfir, the little brat, for you are nothing more."   
  
Thomas froze, his voice taking on a surprised and deadly tone. "What did you dare say to me?"  
  
"Are your royal ears too good to hear the words of the people who surround you? Or are you just too ignorant to listen to anything other than compliments? If the latter is so we shall not communicate very well for nothing I can see would open my lips to speak such words."   
  
Thomas' hand connected with the side of Jason's face, making his head snap back momentarily. There was strength behind the blow, though it was not channelled properly, and Jason knew his new charge would make a fine warrior some day.  
  
If he could pass the training.   
  
Thomas was surprised when the slave did not stumble after the blow. He had reckoned himself a fairly heavy hitter but Jason had not fallen, had only moved his head for a second and that was more out of instinct than anything else. He was soon facing the strange slave again; unable to stop himself from cringing as those burning blue eyes caught his.  
  
They were now the colour of fire, so hot it loses any redness and burns a searing, translucent blue instead.   
  
"It is easy to hit those who can not fight back, is it not? You have had too much practise in such things and lack much for it. Against one who does not cower from you in misplaced fear you would fall and do so very quickly." Jason's tone was neutral, his face and posture betrayed no emotion, but his eyes held Thomas' and sent a sliver of fearful apprehension down his spine.   
  
He did not like that feeling and acted to rid himself of it as he had long been taught.   
  
Against one who was defenceless against him Thomas attacked without question and quite ruthlessly. Bullying was something he was very familiar with as he had been doing it all his life. Striking the defiant slave repeatedly seemed to drive the fear in his heart back as far as it could be coaxed to go.   
  
Jason bore the blows without reaction. He could easily evade them if he so wished and do more damage to the infuriated boy so bent on injuring him. Only his hands were bound, he had been in worse situations before and come out the victor.   
  
If it were not for the whispers of the wind that told him to stay the course he would have been again. And perhaps in bearing the beating in silence he would still have his victory. The pain had little effect on him; it was more an annoyance than a hindrance. Worse had been meted out to him in the past and his instincts told him worse would be born by him in the future.   
  
The beating ended as abruptly as it had started. Thomas' anger liked to fizzle and wane without control. Plus he greatly feared the wraith of his father who would not like it if he killed the new slave before any task had been set before him.   
He satisfied himself with what he thought was a fear driving remark.   
  
"I could have everything from you. I could take your very life on my whim." Thomas growled, kicking the slave in his already bruised ribs.   
  
He snorted and turned to walk away but he had not gotten half way across the court yard when the still strong voice rang true again.  
  
"You could," Jason's eyes watched, burning with a fire Thomas had never seen before, as he turned. The slave had gotten to his feet somehow though Thomas did not doubt the pain he was in was immense. "but it would do nothing. There is nothing you can take from me that I treasure in such a way it would grieve me to lose it. All has been taken from me and yet I survive, I stand. Can you say such a thing would be true of yourself?"  
  
Thomas flushed an angry red and strode back to where the slave stood malice in his every step. His beating was quick and efficient. He had learned how to harm those defenceless against his attack long ago. His temper was that of a viper, he stuck to kill, and Jason had enflamed that temper. He was beaten ruthlessly and yet...  
  
And yet Thomas did not kill him. Instead he left him lying on the dirt floor as he wiped the other man's blood from his hands. Satisfied with his work he looked around at the other slaves in the courtyard who now cowered in fear.  
  
"Let that be a lesson to the rest of you." He growled intent on leaving the man where he lay as he stalked off.  
  
Jason had other plans. He let out a low rasping breath as he moved every fibre of his being screaming in protested agony as he slowly drew himself to his knees and then his feet.   
  
Thomas just watched in horror as this slave, this supposedly pitiful slave, defied him again.   
  
"No, little prince," The endearment somehow became venom in Jason's soft voice, "This was your first lesson, where I judge how much a little, bratty child you are. You are lacking in all ways. It is your first lesson, Isorfir, it will not be your last, that I promise you."  
  
Thomas was a moment from taking out the ornamental sword he wore on his belt and gutting the insolent slave when a restraining hand came to lie on his shoulder. "That will not be necessary, boy. After all, he cannot teach you if he is dead."  
  
The king left his son's side and circled the defiant slave. Contempt was clear in his eyes but there was also a greed one can only get when one knows they can turn the situation into a prosperous one.  
  
"He will be dealt with, of course, but there is an advantage in having such spirit in the one who will teach you to be a warrior." Daemon mused aloud. "If you strike him you will be punished accordingly..."  
  
"But Father...!" Thomas began to protest.  
  
"...until your training has been completed. After that you may break him as you wish." Daemon smirked. "When you have become a worthy warrior we will have no use for a defiant, wilful slave. Until the day you are deemed a warrior you shall not strike him. That does not mean I will not, however. He will be punished for his unjust tongue, I assure you."  
  
Jason said nothing, nor did his eyes or posture betray any of the pain he was in. There was no fear in his heart and it showed in his body. If he was not supposed to be the best Daemon would have started to break him by now. It was perfectly disgusting to see a dirty slave act so mighty.   
  
"You are to prepare for the dinner function of the night." Daemon told his now sullen son. "The slave will be taken to the prison to be dealt with before being released to his new quarters. Take him away."  
  
Thomas smirked as he watched the slave being roughly led away by the guards. So he would have to become a fighter before he could break the slave. So what? It would just take a little longer, that was all. It would make breaking him all the more sweet... 


	2. Chapter 2

Disclaimer: I own nothing you recognize.   
  
Author's Note: Oh boy! I got to use Elvish in this chappie! *grins* The translation is at the end of the chapter. If people would rather have it in brackets right beside the words let me know, I just prefer this way. Much thanks to Christine for beta'ing! *Grins* And to those who put pillows under my head when I started banging it on the desk. Again. :-p to those who just laughed! I'm looking at you, Satan!  
  
Remember the amount of work I do on this is directly related to the amount of feedback I receive! :-)  
  
Chapter 2  
  
It was cold in the dungeons.   
  
Jason had never been one to care about the extremities. Cold and heat did not bother him. That it was cold in the dungeons was just an observation.   
  
He did not like having his arms bound over his head by chains. The metal was too tight and bit into his wrists sharply. The pain mattered not, he had suffered worse in recent times, but the feel of that heartless metal against his skin was not pleasant. He despised being trapped like that.  
  
It would be of no use to show he was uncomfortable. He had long schooled his features to be unreadable, perhaps even slightly arrogant. None who entered the cell would be able to tell how much the metal made his skin crawl.   
  
None were in the cell with him. He waited for the king to come, no doubt to beat him and snarl vilely, that would not be escaped he knew, but an understanding would have to be reached. If he were to train the boy he would need more control than he had. No matter what the king thought of his place, he had been bought to teach the prince to be a warrior and he could not do that without the proper rules.  
  
The metal was starting to edge on Jason's nerves. It was unusual that he would be this affected by such a touch, nor would the dirty stone walls and floor be as much of a bother, but there was an evilness inside the Palace that seemed to penetrate every inch of nonliving creation, and some living flesh too. It made him heartsick to feel such evil though he knew it could not take hold of him.   
  
It would not do to have the feeling distract him from the task that would be at hand once the king arrived. No, Jason would not allow that.   
  
His eyes closed and his breathing began to slow. It was easy to find. It reached for him, as it always did, even when he did not seek it. It pulsed through him, strong but tender, giving him new vigour. For a moment nothing existed, save him and that steady, life giving pulse...  
  
Then he came back to himself. The sounds of heavy footsteps fell on the stone floor of the corridor, but if they had not, Jason still would have sensed the king drawing closer. The evil that had sunk into the very stones of the castle wall came from within that man; Jason had known it upon their first meeting.   
  
His body had been ready for this meeting since before he rose at dawn that morning. He had known this confrontation would come from the moment he had been sold to this excuse of a man, as he knew many more would come in the future.   
  
His mind and soul were ready too, but for what lay beyond the conflict set to arrive in mere moments. In everything but body, he was past the moment before it began. It was of little consequence to him.   
  
The door was flung upon and hit the cell wall with a sharp clash. A scare tactic, no doubt. Jason nearly smiled, and he would have done so had he not felt it important to keep his features emotionless. He was not the one who was frightened.  
  
Four guards filed into the dank room. Jason waited a beat, smirking mentally when the king came in with a flourish after pausing for a more dramatic entrance. The man was vying for control. He never knew that it had slipped from his grasp the moment the coins that had bought him Jason's keeping, slipped from his hands.  
  
Daemon was surprised to see the condition of the slave. Most would cower at his appearance. This one did not even flinch. And those eyes...They burned with a cold fire of ice.  
  
He nodded to one of the guards who quickly cut away the tunic Jason wore. His blade was not careful and a thin line of blood soon trickled down his side. Jason did not react to the metal that sliced his skin nor the bite of the cold that assaulted his half naked body.   
  
Daemon did not like that.  
  
"Your little performance out there did you no good." Daemon motioned for the guard to stand behind Jason, a whip posed over the scarred back. "You should be reminded of your place."   
  
Daemon's whip fell across Jason's back for the first time. He did not react at all.  
  
"I know my place." Jason said with a steady voice and impassive features. "There has never been a time when I was not aware of where I belonged."   
  
"Then we severely disagree." Daemon let the whip fall again. No reaction. "And no one has the right to disagree with me."  
  
"In all due respect, your highness, I cannot teach your son if I have no authority over him. You know I will not be able to teach him without control. He will not be made into a warrior by being babied." Jason told him. "He would learn better if you allowed me to teach him my way. It has not failed me yet."  
  
"You are a slave," A cruel smiled flickered over his face as the whip came down again, "I would say that is a failure to one who claims to be a warrior."  
  
"You have seen what I am capable of." Jason felt the whip lick across his back. Pain flared momentarily before settling to a dull throb. His features had long ago been schooled not to show any vulnerability. Flinching would only give the king before him satisfaction. "My becoming a slave does not concern you."  
  
"You are right about that. I care not how you came to be such a foul, lowly creature, just that you are. I will get the gold I paid for you back in services, do not doubt that." Daemon sneered at him. "You will teach the boy and teach him well."   
  
"That I will. If you do not interfere I can mould him into a great warrior." Jason said tonelessly as the whip lashed across his back. "The more you interfere the less I can teach him. He is not a prince but a student when he is with me, even outside of the designated lesson time. Otherwise progress will be slow and small."   
  
"I am not stupid. I know how warrior training must be." The king smirked, taking the whip out of the hands of the guard and using it himself. "I will be watching, however, and when you step out of line I will remind you of your place."  
  
"I am not the best student," Jason's voice was suddenly cold and cutting. If Daemon had seen the ethereal eyes at that moment he would have flinched in fear. "especially when the lesson is wrong."  
  
Daemon growled and cracked the whip a little harder. He was becoming frustrated with the lack of response he was getting from his slave. "Just remember when the prince is finished his training you become mine to do with as I please. I would keep my uncivilized tongue behind my teeth if I were you."  
  
"If you were me many things would be different." Jason replied. "But the dishonour you would do to all I have ever stood for would be too great. You could not be me if you wanted it to be so, with all your heart."  
  
The blow to Jason's head was vicious but it fazed him for less than a heartbeat.   
  
"I am the king here," Daemon snarled, bringing the whip down on the abused back in rapid succession. "You would do well to remember it! You are *my* slave. Your life is in *my* hands. I can end it at anytime if I so choose."  
  
"Arauko, narlyë morna ar tevië. Inyë vanyë lintel analyë." Jason replied, his words soft but frightening in their intensity. "I do not fear death. Nor is pain a threat to me. Do what you will. I care not."  
  
Daemon flushed in anger and handed the whip to one of the guards before he simply killed the slave he had paid good money to own. "Remind him of his place and do it well. He has to be able to give the prince his first lesson tomorrow so do not damage him too badly. There will be time for that later."  
  
The guard with the whip nearly smirked but curbed the impulse. It was hard to tell when the king would take issue with such a liberty as that. "Yes, sire."   
  
Daemon stopped in front of Jason before he left, daring the slave to meet his eyes. All before had not but those strange eyes stared straight back at him. They unnerved the king as very little did.   
  
"You will tremble before me in the end." Daemon said in feigned confidence.   
  
For the first time the emotionless mask Jason wore shifted as he laughed mirthlessly. "You shall see, Arauko, one day you shall see."  
  
Daemon was nearly trembling in fury himself and his hand connected hard with Jason's face. For a moment Jason's head snapped back, but only for a moment. The blue eyes danced with flames as they bore into him. The red trickle that crawled from a cut made by Daemon's ring contrasted sharply with the pale, near shimmering skin. For an instant true fear clutched the heart of the king. This slave before him held a power he could never grasp; he saw a glimpse of what he was toying with in that slow heartbeat.   
  
He abruptly left the room. One does not sprinkle pepper on a dragon's nose and then wait for the sneeze that follows. He would not wait to see exactly what the slave he had acquired had been before he had been captured.   
  
It was late when the guards showed Jason to the slave quarters by the way of cruel jabs and trips. His back bled from the bites of the whip and bruises were already beginning to form on his mistreated body. He was barely aware of the pains of his body.   
  
It was an odd sensation but one he knew well. It was all but pounding through him by the time the guards pushed him roughly to the ground in front of a dilapidated building. He was on his feet in the next instant, simply to show them they had not conquered him. They were shocked, and he could see fear on their faces as he had seen it on the face of the king, but in the next moment they had recovered and were laughing as they shared ideas of how to break him next time.  
  
And Jason knew there would be a next time.  
  
But he would not focus on that. Instead he leaned against the side of the building and just breathed. There was little that grew on the ground surrounding the dingy building but there was grass and a few wilting weeds and flowers. It was more than enough to soothe him.   
  
He closed his eyes and let out a long, steady breath, feeling it creep over him like a wave washing over the shore. He let it take him. He let it pull him into a comforting embrace, strengthening and healing all parts of him.  
  
For long moments he lingered there, protected by a guardian that could never be destroyed or taken from him. A soft breeze stirred and caressed his face with a touch as real as the stars.  
  
A difficult thing on a night of no wind.   
  
Jason was very aware of everything within the range of his senses while he lingered in that moment. He heard the creak of the floorboards before the door opened and a young man, still a boy really and probably born into slavery, stepped outside.   
  
Jason's eyes were open then, and looking up at the stars.  
  
"Sir?" The boy asked.   
  
"The stars are beautiful tonight, are they not?" Jason said, still feeling it comfort and cradle him.   
  
"Are you badly hurt?" The boy asked, nervous around this strange, new slave.  
  
"It is nothing I cannot bear." Jason replied. He was on his feet in one fluid motion causing the boy's eyes to widen.   
  
"But your back...It's bleeding." He stammered.   
  
Jason had felt the trickle of warm, thick liquid trailing slowly down his back and ignored it. It would heal in time and would not hinder him much while it did. It was of little concern.   
  
"We cannot do much for you but your wounds can at least be bound and it is warmer inside." The boy told him.  
  
Jason was surprised. "What is your name?"  
  
"Trip, sir." He replied gravely.   
  
"You know, Trip, that the king will not take kindly to any who aid me, even if the help is simply a kind word." Jason told him.  
  
"I know. We all do." Trip reported. "Please, come inside. It is not much but it is the only comfort we have."  
  
Jason followed the boy inside though he knew he would draw more comfort if he remained outside under the stars. He had to warn the other slaves at the very least. The king had marked him for torment and any who were seen helping him were very likely to receive similar treatment.   
  
He was not surprised to find all eyes upon him when he entered the bunk house.  
  
"The king has a vendetta against me." Jason warned. "I do not know what action he will take against those who offer my aid in any respect."  
  
"It has been long since we had any hope." A slightly older, though still young, man asked[stated]. He had a hardness about him that Trip did not possess. Jason wondered briefly what had spared the young slave from that fate. "You give us this again and I, for one, will bear whatever comes to keep this gift."  
  
"I am no saviour. I am only a teacher." Jason cautioned. "Do not expect miracles from me for I cannot give them."  
  
"You were not born to live the life of a slave, that is plain to all those here, yet you do not act as if you were above us. Instead you are concerned for us." The man observed. "You are not a saviour, this we all know, but you are different."   
  
"No person should be born, or made, into a slave for another." Jason spoke the words on instinct. Such a thing had been utterly foreign to him before he himself was shackled and owned by another and it violated everything he had ever been taught.   
  
The young man smiled broadly, the look somewhat strange on his tight features. "My name is Eric and you are welcomed as one of us. We will take care of you as we take care of any who are wounded. You are not alone."  
  
"Thank you." Jason replied humbly. It was warming to know he would have human support. It was something he had not grasped in years.   
  
"Come, we will bind your wounds and find you a new tunic." A woman said, coming forward and leading him into the midst of the slave barrack.   
  
The next morn, when he rose at dawn to prepare for the first official lesson Thomas would have, he was grateful for the help he had received. He knew the day would bring either the first step towards shaping his new student or his ruin.   
  
And there was an equal chance for either course to end the strongest. 


	3. Chapter 3

Disclaimer: I own nothing.  
  
Author's Note: Feed back is this girls' best friend and don't forget it! *grins* As always thank you to my wonderful, amazing, patient beta's for putting up with me. If it wasn't for them this would be typo city!  
  
Chapter 3  
  
Jason expected rebellion from Thomas that morn. It would take something more than his look to gain the attention of the prince but Jason was nothing if not resourceful. He situated himself on a ledge in the courtyard that had been converted into a training ground for the prince's warrior studies.   
  
Sure enough Thomas arrived late and wearing over extravagant armour that looked better suited for a coronation than a lesson. The air of arrogance that clouded around him was so thick Jason would have liked to have cut it with his knife instead of his equally sharp tongue.   
  
"You are tardy and over dressed, Isorfir, or should I call you peacock as you strut your feathers so vainly?" Jason did not look up from the task he was concentrating on, sharpening the dull blade he had been given in place of a real sword, but his eyes took in everything that deserved notice in the courtyard. "Take those ridiculous feathers off, they are not good for protection and would only attract danger in a battle situation. You will run the length of this courtyard until I tell you to stop. I do not permit tardiness. It is an unwelcome trait in a warrior, one that can get others killed."   
  
"No." Thomas replied defiantly. Jason nearly smiled. He could hear the uncertainty lacing the haughty voice already. The battle may turn out to be less difficult than he had thought.  
  
"No?" Jason's tone was casual as he leapt from the ledge, landing on his feet and drawing himself up to his full height with all the grace of a cat and elegance of an eagle. "And why not?"  
  
"You are a slave." Thomas filled his voice with contempt though he knew the ground he stood on was shaky. The voice of the slave before him may have been indifferent but those eyes...already they filled Thomas with fear but also a sort of breathless anticipation. When one was in the presence of this mysterious creature one could not help but feel that something wonderful was just around the corner.   
  
"This I know." Jason had moved very close to Thomas on steps that were soundless. In a person of any other class Thomas would have been moved to respect for he had never seen such poise before and the act was only walking a few steps. It made him wonder just what metal this slave had been formed from.   
  
"Why should I listen to a slave?" Thomas' voice was cruel and he forced it not to tremble. "How can you have been such a great warrior if this is your station now, something lower than the dirt not fit to even touch my armour?"   
  
A slow smile spread across Jason's face, nearly glowing in the early touch of the sun's soft fingers. "You do not believe me worthy then."  
  
Thomas could not speak for a moment. He could see the power held within Jason and the question he had asked suddenly occupied his entire mind. How did a being like Jason become a slave? The arrogance Thomas had long been taught was quick to take him, however, over shadowing the momentary curiosity of a boy long lost. "Why should I believe you are worthy of anything but to lick my boots?"   
  
Jason nodded once. "Very well. Do your best against me."  
  
"What?" Thomas asked incredulously.   
  
"Do your best against me. Look I wear no armour and am unarmed." Jason tossed the pitiful excuse of a sword aside. "It should be easy. I am, after all an unworthy slave, and you are a prince."  
  
Thomas growled. He knew the slave was trying to trick him into angering, he knew not to let his emotions blind him at least, but he would beat him anyway. After all, what was a slave compared to him! He could best him easily.  
  
Couldn't he?  
  
The fight was over so quickly is could hardly be named a fight. Thomas had drawn his sword and begun to swing it, uncaring if he cost his father a slave or not, only he never had a chance to complete the action. Jason moved with fleetness and efficiency of the winter wind. He had disarmed the young prince before he could properly raise his sword and delivered the first blow before the bewilderment of losing his weapon could reach his mind.   
  
The first hit alone would have sent Thomas staggering but another was laid on his body before he could lose his feet. The last blow came as he fell. It was little more than a tap compared to the others but was perhaps the most humiliating.   
  
Suddenly on the ground with his lip split, the wind only now returning to his lungs and his rear smarting, Thomas felt his cheeks burn in utter embarrassment. A slave, a lowly, dirty, *slave* had just delivered a sound beating to him and had done so effortlessly.   
  
He could not help but raise his eyes to Jason, who stood above him holding the ornate sword. He had expected triumph play upon the strong face. The impassive visage that met him was a great surprise.  
  
"Had I been in a true battle with you the blows of my hands would have been the blows of your own sword running through your body." Jason told him. There was no hint of gloating in his voice; it was simply that of an instructor pointing out the error of a student.  
  
Jason tilted his head for a moment, studying Thomas who remained where he had landed on the ground his face red with embarrassment and rage. "Yet you still do not believe me worthy enough to teach me. You believe you have been cheated in some way though you would be hard pressed to explain how I could have done such a thing. So be it."  
  
"If you need more proof of my quality send a guard against me. They have passed the warrior trials. I will remain unarmed." Jason offered as if he were speaking of the weather rather than a mock battle. The guards had no love for him, that was evident, and Thomas knew very well that cheap tactics would be used against this defiant slave.   
  
He picked himself off the ground, with far less grace than Jason would have, and beckoned the sliest guard he knew of to fight him. Jason looked at Thomas for barely a moment but Thomas knew the slave was aware of why he had picked that guard to fight him just as he was aware that Thomas knew the guard had been among those who had beaten him when he had been helpless to resist their blows the previous night. For a moment the prince felt something akin to shame as he realized Jason was disappointed in his selection.   
  
This disappointment was further shown when he would not even grant the overconfident guard with a fight as long as Thomas had been given. The man was on the ground within the time it took for Jason to place one blow.   
  
"Satisfied?" Jason questioned those blue eyes boring into Thomas, the twin circles of ice made him feel cold somewhere deep inside.  
  
"No." Thomas managed to spit out, motioning for another guard, no, this time two, to face off against the slave.   
  
It was when Jason bested six guards with as much ease as he had bested Thomas while still unarmed that the prince realized this was a battle of wills he had never had a chance of winning. He called the next ground of guards, eight who looked wary to try their luck against the strange slave though eager to cause him harm, off as they began to move forward.  
  
Jason straightened, his tone as unaffected as it had been when he first beat Thomas. "Have you had enough of this? Shall we begin?"  
  
Thomas nodded sulkily but did not speak. He knew he would hear about this later from his father and thought it best to quit while he was behind. He would obey this slave though he still loathed doing so.   
  
"It has taken you long enough." Thomas was surprised to hear wry humour lacing Jason's voice but did he best to conceal it. "This foolishness took long enough and a warrior cannot spare time for such things. You will run the length of the courtyard until I tell you to stop in that costume you wear as armour. Then it will be time to take off the feathers, Isorfir the peacock prince, they are no good to you here."  
  
Thomas began running, his face in an unattractive, sulky pout. Jason picked up the would be blade he had tossed aside earlier and began to sharpen it again, leaning against the wall and observing Thomas with unhurried eyes.  
  
"Your education has just begun, Isorfir, I would save such an expression if I were you. You may need something akin to it in later days." Jason told him. "There is much you must learn yet."   
  
*****  
  
The harsh teeth of a whip sunk into the battered back repeatedly that night.   
  
Jason reacted as much as he had the previous night, his eyes as washed, dull and disinterested as the sky on a cloudy day.   
  
The king had, predictably, taken issue with how Jason had chosen to teach his son. He would not show it in front of the boy, no, that would undermine the authority Jason needed to instruct him, but he would get his point across once Thomas had been summoned for other things.   
  
"You are an insolent being." Daemon sneered, watching as the whip fell across Jason's back, glee in his eyes. "To humiliate my son and my royal guards, surely you did not think such a thing would be overlooked?"  
  
"Nay, I did not." Jason replied, his tone conversational, as if the all the guards who had bested today were not taking turns abusing him now that he was chained and helpless.   
  
"Yet you proceeded with such actions as if you were too dim to know the consequences." Daemon smirked. "Tsk.Tsk. And I thought a brain may have been in your possession."  
  
"You may think whatever you choose to, I have no say over that." Jason replied.  
  
"You have no say over anything." Daemon barked his tone harsh and biting.   
  
"As you continue to remind me." Jason smiled, blood dribbling from his split lip. The guards had had their chance to make up for the blows he had landed on them earlier. The whip was being used simply because Daemon delighted in it.   
  
"You refuse to learn your place." Daemon growled.  
  
"I told you before I was a slow learner in lesson such as that." Jason absently wondered how long it would take for Daemon to lose his temper this time. His outburst would fit a small child better than a king. "Must I repeat myself?"  
  
Jason expected the blow aimed at his head and shifted so that it only grazed his skin. The ring Daemon wore cut his cheek, making the blow seem to inflict more damage than it really had. He was quickly learning how to manipulate Daemon and control the affect his actions had on him. He knew it would prove a worthy skill.  
  
"Give me that whip!" Daemon demanded. "I grow tired of this game. I am your master, slave!"  
  
"This game is far from over." Jason said, the whip biting as his skin in rapid succession as if he had fallen into a pit of snakes. "It will be a long time before we see who is the cat and who is the mouse, Arauko."  
  
*****  
  
The guards were unnerved when Jason again stood in defiance as they shoved him into the slave compound. Some were rethinking their decision to torment this new slave, not out of respect or kindness but out of utter fear. The rest only wished to break the noble spirit more, however, and vowed that the slave would cower before them in the end.   
  
Wishful thinking but dangerous wishful thinking. Jason was not immune to all pain, his tolerance for it was simply high and he did have help. He let himself settle. Sinking back into the embrace that was waiting for him for as long as he could...  
  
Jason smiled slightly as he heard footsteps nearing the door from where he sat, eyes closed, leaning against the slave house. The weight of the steps and the speed of breathing gave him the knowledge of who it was.   
  
"Hello, Eric." Jason greeted with his eyes still closed.  
  
"Can you move?" Eric asked quietly. "Can you make it into the barracks or do you need help?"  
  
"I am fine." Jason opened his eyes and looked at Eric, who crouched beside him, as confusion flickered across the weathered face. "I will come inside in a moment. For now I am simply enjoying the night."  
  
"Enjoying the night..." Eric echoed. "Your back bleeds from the beating you have received, you bear bruises all over your body and you are enjoying the night."  
  
"Yes." Jason replied, looking beyond Eric, to somewhere the other man could only guess.   
  
"I know not what to make of you." Eric said as he shook his head in disbelief.  
  
"Very few do." Jason said cryptically.   
  
"How can you enjoy anything when you know what you will face tomorrow? The prince," Eric sneered, "will still be a brat and the king will beat you."  
  
"This I know." Jason replied evenly. "I draw as much enjoyment out of the day as I can for without that what is the purpose of living?"  
  
"I enjoy nothing." Eric told him gruffly.  
  
"If that were true you would not be living, merely surviving in ignorance. But you do live. I have seen that much of you." Jason turned his gaze on Eric.   
  
Eric shifted uncomfortably. He was not an easy man to ruffle; he had spent all his life as a slave and could not afford to feel such a thing. Jason was an enigma, however, and that made him uneasy.   
  
Jason smiled slightly and turned his gaze upwards to the stars. "You have been denied comfort all your life and yet you still find it in your heart to shelter another so they will not follow the same path. You are truly noble, friend. It takes a strong man to do such a thing."  
  
"I know not what you speak of." Eric said sharply. His ears turned slightly pink but otherwise his embarrassment did not show.  
  
"Eric?" A soft voice asked. Eric turned to see Trip's concerned face peeking out through the half opened door. "Is he okay? Do you need help?"  
  
"I am fine, Trip, and yes, I am aware my back is bleeding once again." Jason left his gaze lost in the stars as he spoke. "I wished to enjoy the night breeze before I came inside."  
  
"Oh." Trip looked befuddled at that. The slave barracks were the only safety they had and little could be found even there.   
  
Jason turned to look at him for a moment, smiling encouragingly. "I will come inside in only a moment more. Do not worry for me."  
  
Trip seemed satisfied with that. The door shut behind him with a soft click, leaving Eric and Jason sitting in silence for a few moments.  
  
"It is a noble thing," Jason began, "to shelter him as you do. He owes you much but I have begun to believe you owe him just as much. He gave you reason to fight again."  
  
"If you plan on using him to manipulate me I suggest you re-think your plans for you will be dead before you can get close enough to touch him." Eric's voice had taken on a quiet, deadly chill. There was no bravado in it, only calm, absolute truth.   
  
"You would die before you let someone come close to hurting him." Jason nodded once. "But if you die than what is he left with? So far you have managed to make him blend into the shadows but you will not be able to do this forever. He will be noticed. Innocence…" Jason sighed softly, memories clouding his eyes for a moment. "It cannot be kept from fading forever. What will you do when he is no longer invisible?"  
  
"Kill those who have revealed him." Eric said. His voice was toneless and utterly serious.  
  
"Nay, he will need you the most then." Jason shook his head. "You can only die for him once and then he will be alone. Live for him instead; it will make more difference in time."  
  
"What would you know about it!?" Eric hissed as he scrambled to his feet in anger and fear of what he would do if he did not relieve the tension gathering in his body. His fists clenched angrily at his sides. "Have you seen the innocent at the mercy of guards like those that reside here? Have you watched your brother, your helpless, innocent brother, struck down because you were not attentive enough? Have you seen the person you loved more than anything not even given the respect that the dead are due?"  
  
"Yes."   
  
The one word made Eric freeze entirely. His body jolted once as the words that had escaped his own mouth replayed in his mind. He had not exposed this much of himself in a very long time and it had been even longer since anyone had learned about the brother he had lost.   
  
His eyes narrowed dangerously, "I do not know why I just revealed that but you would do well to keep your tongue in your head regarding the matter lest you wish to lose it."  
  
Jason gave a low chuckle. "I reveal very little."  
  
"So I have noticed." Eric commented dryly. "You are infuriating."  
  
"I image so." Jason shifted slightly to allow the breeze to flutter over him even more. In doing so he alerted Eric's attention to his back which was still bleeding and unattended.   
  
"Come. Your back must be dealt with, enigma, you cannot fall sick here. It will be your death if you do." Eric stood and waited for Jason to as well.  
  
"Very well." Jason rose less stiffly than Eric had and the other slave had had an easy few days since all the attention of the more brutal guards had been focussed on Jason. For a moment he looked at Eric, a strange expression in his nearly unnerving gaze. "Enigma?"  
  
"Aye. You puzzle me greatly and I do not care for it in the least. For all I will never grasp I can at least make sense and read the guards to escape most of their wrath and prevent them from harming Tr...others." Eric scowled as the corners of Jason's mouth twitched ever so slightly. "You I cannot make sense of. You go left when I am sure you will go right. Nay, not even left, you go in a way I cannot even make sense of. It is unsettling."  
  
"That is good." Jason replied. "Let us hope it makes Arauko Aran feel as uncomfortable." 


	4. Chapter 4

Disclaimer: I own nothing. Power Rangers belong to whoever they belong to know. Elvish belongs to Tolkien or whoever his stuff is copyrighted to.  
  
Author's Notes: I know, it's another slow chapter but it will pick up in the next one, I promise. Translations are at the end. This chapter has, probably, the largest amount of Elvish I'll be using for this whole story. And, as always, much thanks go to my dear beta, who is far better than any Elf, except for that hot one I want to...never mind. :-)  
  
Chapter 4  
  
If anyone had been out in the slaves' dingy courtyard, that was only there because sometimes the barracks over flowed and people had to sleep outside, they may have seen the figure stealing across the grounds. May have seen, for he was so swift and silent that he blended into the inky night as if he were nothing more than a shadow.  
  
He moved with the night on his side, as if the very shadows bent to conceal him as he stole out of the slave quarters and to the courtyard reserved for the royals, heading toward a very old, very large tree. The first branch was higher than most could reach but the figure had no trouble springing into the welcoming branches.  
  
It was an odd sight. No normal slave would risk getting caught and possibly tortured just to climb a tree.  
  
But no one could claim Jason was a normal slave.  
  
It was clear that once upon a time he had been so much more than what he had become. Everything about him, from his appearance to his mannerisms, stated firmly he was of an educated class if not noble birth. It baffled the slaves, for he always had an encouraging word for them, and angered the nobles, for he had a greater presence and bearing than any that resided in the court of Daemon. It was both a blessing and a burden for many held him on too high a pedestal and others did their best to knock him off it, to the dirt where they thought he belonged.  
  
It was all very tiring for the man who now sat amid the branches, high in the elderly tree.  
  
Jason let a sigh escape his lips as he gathered his tattered cloak close to him, more for the comforting feel of the fabric than the warmth it provided. At least he had this small sanctuary where he could escape to rid himself of the despair that tried to linger in his heart.  
  
He lay back against the supportive tree branches that seemed to have formed a place to rest just for him. Most would say such a thing was absurd but most did not venture into tall trees when they needed to escape.  
  
And most would not have heard the whispers that carried on the air as Jason lay back and rested his tired eyes.  
  
"Elenmelda, cuilë kémimelda, haryasenda sín. Estel ná lá vanwa. Haryasérëlla mí mando mí olwa, undu isilmë ar slime. Narvarnalyë halda. Narvarnalyë." The words whispered through the branches on a wind that did not exist and pushed the leaves to caress Jason's back in a gentle, soothing motion.  
  
"Axo yernanyë ar enda laiwa. istanyë lá man min. Merënyë mando ar senda aurë nan nut sina cólo. Estel ná qualin." Jason murmured, comforted by the embrace of the Earth.  
  
The branches swayed in the wind that was not there, as if forming a protective shield around Jason to keep him safe from the ugly world he had to face, as if they thought a being of such light as him should not have to see such times. "Narlyë estel qualin. Alca selma lá vanwa holyë. Narlyë mando mas kémi. Narlyë kémimelda."  
  
"Kémi antasendan." Jason's voice was soft and thick as he drifted to sleep, safe in the cradle of the branches.  
  
"Sérëlla mí mando olwa." The whispers quieted as Jason slipped into dreams. A soft singing could be heard, used to sooth the troubled mind of the man who too often strayed into night terrors. "Sérëlla."  
  
Jason would have to leave before the early light of the golden dawn rose to touch her fingers gently to his handsome face. In what seemed like another lifetime he had risen to meet the dawn, to embrace that moment when day began anew.  
  
He would have to wait for the rebirth of Nóndil before he could feel such a moment again.  
  
*****  
  
"If you are not going to take this lesson seriously I may as well have you spar against a guard." Jason shook his head. He was knocking his young student to the ground far too easily today. He knew Thomas was better than the half rate effort he was putting forth. He had seen it before.  
  
"That is all right by me." Thomas agreed, far too easily.  
  
Jason's eyebrows raised in question. "It takes you weeks to learn enough to begin sparring with me for just a few minutes a day and today you wish to forsake this?"  
  
"Yes." Thomas answered quietly.  
  
"Why the sudden change of heart?" Jason questioned.  
  
Thomas remained silent, his eyes focused intently on his shoes. Jason spoke again, "Why the change of heart or shall you run the length of the courtyard until your memory is jarred?"  
  
"Your back..." Thomas looked uneasy. He knew he would not escape this and did not wish to collapse of exhaustion before having such a discussion. "What happened to it?"  
  
Jason was not wearing a tunic. His tunics did not survive more than a few days and those that were not left where they had been discarded in what had become his cell were ripped and stained with blood. Sometimes the stains could be cut out so they could be fashioned into clothes for others but more often than not it was simply the unaffordable loss of a garment. Jason did not want to keep using the meagre supply of extra clothing his fellow slaves had managed to obtain.  
  
Jason's face was a mask of indifferent stone when he answered. "What do you think, Thomas?"  
  
"I do not know." Thomas replied, trying to shrug off the queasy feeling in his stomach.  
  
Jason raised one eyebrow and then nodded slowly. "It is no matter. It does not hinder me." He suddenly stretched, the skin shifted and a few scabs cracked just a little, not enough to let new blood spill, just enough to make Thomas see many of the welts were fresh. "Face off; it is not wise to waste time."  
  
"I do not wish to fight you while you are injured. It is not a fair fight." Thomas insisted. He hesitated, unsure of why such a thing mattered to him when facing off against his instructor, and then added, for the benefit of those who might be watching. "I would not have victory over you at half strength and cheat myself."  
  
"It will not end so you have no choice." Jason told him. "I have already said it does not hinder me nor will it do so in the future."  
  
"Why?" Thomas demanded, impatiently. "Where do these marks come from and how often do you receive them?"  
  
Jason's gaze was hard and so cold Thomas could nearly feel a chill biting at him. "Your father's dungeons are very active, little prince, and every night the guards find sport there as they have since I first arrived here."  
  
"You have been beaten repeatedly." Thomas summarized.  
  
"Aye, and you would do well to remember that the first to give me a beating under the eaves of this palace was you." Jason remarked, as if he were correcting an error in Thomas' swordplay. "You knew of this before, you relished reminding me of what your father would do to me many times in the past."  
  
A barely noticed blush tinged the prince's ears. He remembered that well, it had been the only time he had been able to land a blow on the slave who instructed him. He was also very well aware that his father had taken the slave to the dungeons many times after his lessons ended. Thomas knew what went on in those dungeons; he barely repressed a shudder thinking of it.  
  
"Are you ready to begin again?" Jason questioned. He had seen the change in the prince, for a moment he had seen what was beyond Isorfir but Thomas was not ready to take the next step and reveal what lay beneath freely to him. Jason could do nothing more until he was and would not try to for it would do too much damage. He could wait.  
  
"Yes." Thomas replied absently, his mind still mulling over what he had been forced to see.  
  
"Good. Correct your stance." Jason instructed very nearly smiling as Thomas did as he said automatically. At least he was not so rebellious about being corrected.  
  
Unfortunately Thomas remained distracted and Jason had him on the dirt floor more easily than he had all day. Jason sighed and shook his head before calling for a guard to take his place. "I cannot teach you if you cannot stay on your feet while sparring and as taking up arms against me is too much of a distraction another must do."  
  
Jason's eyes shifted to where he knew Daemon was watching though the flicker of his gaze was not noticed by any. He knew he would be punished severely and that Thomas too would probably hear from his father. Jason trusted the boy's ability to talk his way out of it. He would receive a lecture at the worst, a prize for reminding Jason he was a beaten, filthy slave at best.  
  
The next day Jason was clothed in a dingy tunic, a castaway from the guards' outfitters. Daemon smirked from the balcony he occasionally observed the lessons from as Thomas put all his skill into fighting the rebellious slave, his guilt fading when the wounds Jason bore were hidden from sight.  
  
Translations:  
  
"Elenmelda, cuilë kémimelda, haryasenda sín. Estel ná lá vanwa. Haryasérëlla mí mando mí olwa, undu isilmë ar slime. Narvarnalyë halda. Narvarnalyë.": Beloved of the stars, beloved of the living Earth, have peace now. Hope has not vanished. Have your rest in the safety in the branches, beneath the moonlight and the starlight. You are safe hidden. You are safe.  
  
"Axo yernanyë ar enda laiwa. Istanyë lá man min. Merënyë mando ar senda aurë nan nut sina cólo. Estel ná qualin.": I am bone weary and heart sick. I know not what to do. I wish for the safety and peace of the forest but am tied to this burden. Hope is dying.  
  
"Narlyë estel qualin. Alca selma lá vanwa holyë. Narlyë mando mas kémi. Narlyë kémimelda.": You are the dying hope. The light shall not fade from you. You are safe kept by the Earth. You are beloved of the Earth.  
  
"Kémi antasendan.": The Earth gives me peace.  
  
"Sérëlla mí mando olwa. Sérëlla.": Rest in the safekeeping of the branches. Rest. 


	5. Chapter 5

Disclaimer: I own nothing you recognize.  
  
Author's Note: Normally I'd wait until I had another chapter done before I put this one out but since it's Easter and the last one was short and this one is short as well I figured I'd be nice. Things are beginning to move now! :-) Enjoy! And, as always, thanks to my wonderful, amazing, superhuman beta for making this readable.  
  
Chapter 5  
  
Time passed and Thomas proved to be a diligent and apt pupil...once he accepted Jason as his teacher.   
  
He was still wary of the odd slave who seemed to be so much more than that of his current stature. In a way, Thomas had come to respect him, but that did not mean he was any less the prince he had been brought up to be.   
  
Cruelty, bluster and complete obedience were rewarded and Thomas desperately wanted to avoid punishment.   
  
Jason simply waited. He taught Thomas, but at a slower pace than he normally would have taught one with as much talent and potential as the young prince.   
  
He had nearly a lifetime's worth of lessons to correct. It would take time for Thomas to unlearn the lessons instilled into him by his father's hand--or belt and Jason was not willing to risk danger to either of them by allowing Thomas to unravel certain mysteries before it was time.   
  
Thomas seemed to have come to the edge of a precipice, teetering back and forth after weeks and months spent learning from Jason. He knew he could back away; go down the hill that lead to the life he had been leading--back to being Isorfir—though Jason had not called him thus for weeks. Or he could take a chance and take the next step off the edge.  
  
Only he was unsure whether he would be met with jagged rocks or calming water at the end of the leap.   
  
King Daemon saw not the subtle changes in his son. Thomas was nothing if not a very good, very convincing actor. It was necessary to become one in order to ensure his survival.   
  
Daemon would not accept anything less than what he demanded at any particular instant and not even his son could escape his temper if he did not deliver. It had only taken a few mistakes when Thomas had been very young for him to learn to talk and trick his way out of trouble.   
  
If nothing else he respected Jason for being able to do what he was not; stand up to his father. No, Thomas had seen far too much to do such a thing but Jason, he experienced not saw, and still he did not let the king intimidate him.   
  
It awed Thomas as much as it terrified him.  
  
Daemon was not someone to be underestimated. There had to be some sort of good in him, though it was perhaps hidden very, very deeply, but not many could claim to know it. To be fair, he did keep many of his late father's just laws in place, allowing women and foreigners to hold the same positions as men born within the kingdom for the most part. He had not increased or decreased the trade of slaves, except to the palace. He had not held mass murders of citizens.  
  
But the things he did not do failed to redeem the sins he committed.  
  
While citizens were free from his malicious tendencies for the most part the palace slaves were not. They were fair game and Daemon treated them as such, as if they were birds killed for sport. He regarded most humans as no better than the animals he would kill without thought while on the hunt, but the slaves, those he had free reign over. No one dared complain if one of their number did not return after committing a folly as small as spilling a water jug.   
  
It mattered only on the mood Daemon found himself in.   
  
Thomas had a kinder heart than that of his father.   
  
It was by this kinder heart that Daemon kept his control over his heir razor sharp. Thomas had been conditioned to fear his father for so many years it took very little to frighten him into complying with whatever his father wished. Tonight would be a reminder and the mere thought made Thomas have to hide his tremors.  
  
The journey down into the dungeons was enough to frighten the young prince. By the time he reached the corridor where the guards were waiting to escort him to his father he was twitchy, glancing around in complete disorder out of nervousness. He masked his fear of course, it would not do to have the guards see their prince frightened, but his hearts trembled and leapt at every tiny noise.  
  
He wished that his father did not think this was necessary any longer. He had learned his lesson. He truly had.   
  
The sounds could be heard before he even made it to the cell.   
  
A low, constant moaning, no, not even moaning, a keening, whimpering sound. He knew that sound. He knew whoever was being beaten was past the point of registering anything but pain. If the guards had not been right behind him, waiting for him to go forward, he could have turned around and ran out of that cursed place as fast as humanly possible  
  
Taking a breath that felt more like a gasp Thomas entered the room. It was darker than the hallway; no torches lit the dank room, only the pale light of the moon from the slit of a window cast any kind of lightness. It took a moment for Thomas' eyes to adjust to the dim.   
  
Getting a glimpse of the slave in question nearly caused Thomas' chest to plunge into his stomach. The slave barely came up to Thomas' chest. So young...Too young...  
  
Thomas' breath caught in his throat momentarily. He hated this.   
  
The beating paused Thomas entered, the guards stopping the torment long enough to bow to him.   
  
The body of the slave child sagged in the chains that kept him upright. The boy's head hung against his chest, a pitiful whimpering sound. A muscle in Thomas' face gave an unnoticed twinge but other than that, he did not react. His expression was schooled to remain impassive, anything else, save glee for the sight before him, would result in punishment.   
  
Thomas was a bully; though he did not have the same sadistic nature as his father. He would boast, he would attack when he felt threatened because running only served to give his father the chance to enforce these punishments on him. Seeing the damage he had done to a slave, a child who had, in all likelihood, committed a minor infraction was too much for him. He had to get out of there.   
  
"Father," Thomas said, his tone bored. He was nothing if not a skilled actor. He would not have survived if he had not been. "This bores me. He is barely even conscious. Must I stay? My lessons with the slave begin early."  
  
"Fine, fine. You may retire," Daemon answered absently. He was enjoying this far too much to worry of his son. There was no reason for the boy to stay if the victim of the night was past putting on a good show.   
  
Thomas bowed slightly to his father and hurried from the room with as much dignity as he could muster when his stomach twisted painfully.  
  
He made it to the courtyard before retching into the bushes. The back of his eyes burned with tears he knew he could not allow to escape. His body wanted to continue retching, his stomach still heaved, but he had nothing more to give. His hair fell messily around his face as a cold sweat broke out over his face.   
  
A hand suddenly rested on his back, steadying him, and gentle fingers brushed his hair out of his face. He tensed in fear of the still unknown figure. If it was his father or one of the counsellors...  
  
But as the hands moved, one to rub his stomach soothingly and one to hold him up as his limbs trembled, he knew that could not be.  
  
"Come. Sit down and rest for a moment." The voice was gentle as the hands moved and Thomas found himself being led to a nearby bench. He looked up...  
  
A strange pair of eyes, softened with concern and the same shade as the sky before daybreak when the stars are still visible, met his.   
  
Thomas immediately stiffened and shrugged off the hands that sought to help him, his face burning red. This was worse than if it had been his father! He could not lose face in front of this man.  
  
"Drink this," Jason told him, ignoring Thomas' discomfort for the moment.   
  
"What is it?" Thomas questioned, looking warily at the clear liquid in the carved wooden cup for a moment.   
  
"Water," Jason replied with a slightly wry grin. He turned and pointed in the direction of the slave quarters. "From the pump. I thought you would like to rinse your mouth."  
  
Thomas wanted to rid himself of the taste of bile in his throat so he rinsed his mouth out and spat before he realized what he was doing. His face reddened further and he looked away from Jason.   
  
"Better?" Jason questioned as he took the cup from the prince's limp fingers.  
  
Thomas nodded, all the blood in his face turning his head nearly purple in embarrassment. Jason did not comment. Instead, he let a warm calloused hand travel up and down the still slightly shuddering back in a gentle, comforting motion.  
  
After a moment Jason sighed, "You are too young to witness what occurs in those dungeons."  
  
"The boy that suffered the blows was younger than I." Thomas' voice shook slightly. "I wonder what offence he committed."  
  
Jason remained silent. The hand continued to move comfortingly over his back. Thomas knew the slave had more knowledge than he was giving forth. Jason seemed to have an eye or ear all over the palace.  
  
Thomas wanted to know. He had to know.  
  
"Tell me his offence, please. I must know," Thomas requested, finding Jason's eyes. They flickered, something in them changing but Thomas could not be certain what it was yet.  
  
The blue gaze searched him, disarmed him down to his very soul. Thomas had never felt as bare as when he was under that stripping gaze. Whatever he saw within Thomas he never vocalized, but he did give Thomas what he wanted to know.  
  
"He delivered the king's meal tonight and it was not of his liking," Jason said finally.  
  
Thomas sighed. He had wanted the boy to have committed some horrible act that would have at least begun to justify the punishment that had been meted out. He shuddered and drew away from Jason, away from his so readily given comfort. He did not want it. He did not want this. It was so much harder this way. It hurt this way.  
  
Thomas stood up abruptly and back away, stumbling as he did. His face was flushed again and his eyes had grown panicky and wild. Jason made no move to follow him as he turned and ran. Some things had to be sought and discovered without outside interference.  
  
Jason slipped back into the slave quarters, his return as unnoticed as his departure. He would wait. Soon, Thomas would come to him by his own will. 


	6. Chapter 6

Disclaimer: I own nothing you recognize.  
  
Author's Note: Thanks to Mandi, my adored beta, for making this a chapter coherent, which is not an easy thing considering how strange my ramblings can be! If Thomas doesn't smarten up soon you have my permission to use the WHACKING stick on him!! :-) And thank you to Rene for being the slave driver that she is. :-p  
  
Chapter 6  
  
It was very late when the guards came for Jason. He was waiting outside the slave barracks for their arrival and went willingly. He trusted the instinct that told him he would not be harmed again that night as he made his way into the palace.   
  
He also knew that this had to be dealt with quickly for there was more damage to be done that night. He could not be sure but the boy who Thomas had witnessed being beaten... Jason had heard the whispers of why he had been taken to the dungeons but not of who it had been.  
  
Trip had yet to return from his evening job of cleaning the dishes for the kitchen slaves. If one of their number had taken ill the small slave could easily have been called upon to deliver Daemon's meal. Jason hoped it was not so and not only for the yet innocent slave child. If Trip had been tormented...  
  
Eric had not returned when the guards led Jason into the palace. He had been part of a small slave contingent sent to work in the king's field that day. They did not make the journey back to the palace until well after dusk. If he arrived to find Trip missing or beaten... Jason did not want to think what his fellow slave would do.   
  
If it was so, Jason needed to be present. He could only hope Thomas would not require his presence for long.   
  
Thomas was standing, staring out one of the windows of his chamber, when the guards delivered Jason into the ornate room with a rough thrust through the open door. They followed him, hiding their sniggers of laughter and stopped, unsure of how to proceed. They rarely had these sorts of dealings with the prince.  
  
"Leave us," Thomas ordered without turned.  
  
The guards looked reluctant but did not make a sound of protest. The prince was more difficult to read than his father, who simply wanted cruelty and obedience. One guard shoved Jason slightly as they left, no doubt to remind him of his place as was so popular, but they said nothing to Thomas.   
  
Jason remained silent, studying Thomas carefully as he waited for him to speak. The younger man's posture was tense; his head bowed slightly as if something heavy rested atop it, forcing it down. He simply emanated discomfort and unrest.   
  
"What is it you want from me?" Thomas began at last. "I never know what to expect from you. I do not understand why you even bother with this charade of kindness at times. So what is it you want from me? What do you want me to do?"  
  
"Nothing," Jason told him. "I want you to do nothing. Doing for me will get you nowhere. I want you to be."  
  
"Be? Be what?" Thomas demanded his tone frustrated.   
  
"What you have inside, what you already are," Jason's eyes were piercing, "but are afraid to be. I want you to be what I have sensed inside you, what I know is there, only hidden away because of your fear."  
  
Thomas snorted, sick of the cryptic words. "You speak of foolishness, of dreams, of nothing but utter nonsense. If you have sensed something in me, which I do not believe you have, you are mistaken."  
  
"Your fear speaks for you, as it should. Your father is a powerful man but he is not indestructible and he is well aware of this. He does not like competition so he has cowered you, bent you to his will from fear of him. Eventually, you may begin to question, to fight this, even without my influence, and then what will become of you?"  
  
Thomas' knuckles whitened with strain as his grip on the windowsill tightened noticeably. He snarled, "You know not what you speak of!"  
  
"I know of your grandfather." Jason's voice was soft, yet still managed to shatter Thomas' defences.  
  
Thomas' eyes widened in surprise and anger, he turned to stare at Jason, fury overpowering the disbelief in his face. "That is not possible! His name is no longer spoken within these walls."  
  
"The silent observers of this castle, of the world, speak to me." The odd eyes were suddenly enflamed with an intense fire and Thomas found himself entranced by the gaze. "I know of what your father saw to. I know how he executed the old, good man. I know you mourned his loss in silence, in fear of what your father may have done to you. I know you cried to the shadows of the night as only a bewildered, wounded child can."  
  
Thomas shuddered once as Jason continued, the cold of his memories creeping through his bones. "I know you did not understand, do not still, the dank darkness that swallowed this land. I know what he did to you, how he kept you from fighting. I know your sorrow, your whimpers in the night when darkness can hide your tears with her gentle blanket. I know of you, Thomas, and I know what will become of you."  
  
Thomas was frozen, his mouth bound by ice so not even the sound from the quick intake of breath could escape. Jason continued on, "Perhaps you will rebel, will fight his iron fist and, if so, die under it, but this is not the fate I see for you. No, I believe what will come to pass will also spell death for you but you will linger on in this place far longer."  
  
"You will suffocate; drown slowly beneath the polluted waters of your father's reign. It has already begun. It will be slow, hardly noticeable to anyone, until the very end." Thomas was held firm in the grip of Jason's voice, paralyzed by his gaze.   
  
"Your health will decline as what lies within falters, for the body can only survive so long without the soul. You will sicken easily, until some common ailment takes you and you will simply not wish to fight it. That is not what is important, though, the dying on the inside is what is to be mourned."  
  
"What I have seen, what has allowed me to bear the anger of your father's whip, will die. Slowly, painfully you will lose it, yourself, and become nothing. No one will notice save myself and perhaps, the trees, the silent sentinels that see all and speak nothing." Thomas shivered, a chilling breeze blowing those trees to scrape their branches against the stone bricks of the palace.   
  
"Then you will die and it will not matter. You will have already lost what is more important than life. You will have already been dead; your body will simply be waiting to join your spirit." The fire died and the eyes became gentle again, almost cooling the burns they had left behind.  
  
Thomas shivered, his head spinning as something within him unlocked and a torrent of himself surged forward violently, without guidelines or boundaries. He felt like retching again and turned an almost deathly shade of pale.   
  
He felt himself following Jason's instructions as those strong hands guided him to the bed. He lay down, still fully clothed, and drew in a shuddering breath. He felt himself being covered with a blanket and a gentle hand ran over his hair before Jason gave a sigh, sitting beside the bed.   
  
"I hope you can forgive this. No one should have to face such thing, but it is necessary in this imperfect world." Thomas raised his head enough to catch the look of sincere sorrow in the darkened eyes. "Things do not have to be this way."  
  
"Please, what do you want of me?" Thomas begged. "I want peace. I just want... to not have to struggle like this, be caught between, any longer. Please, help me."  
  
"Then make a choice this night. That is what I want of you. 'Choose a path. You can continue to follow the course you are currently taking, and I will finish teaching you what is required to pass the warrior trails, and then disappear. You will not see or hear of me again.  
  
"Or, you can choose to change your path, then tomorrow we will begin your *real* training. Everything will change with this choice, and I will not lie to you and say it will be easier."  
  
Jason touched Thomas' cheek for a moment, a tender, wistful, brief touch. Thomas knew it was not meant for him, it was meant for some soul lost to Jason's heart, but that, perhaps, in time, it could be for him alone. "I once knew a young man like you, who faced a similar choice himself. Perhaps, one day, you will learn his story."   
  
  
Jason stood then, and turned to leave the room. He was nearly to the door when Thomas found his voice to speak. "Jason?"  
  
The pale face was half-obscured by the shadows of the room but the blue eyes were very clear and somehow supporting. "Yes, Thomas?"  
  
"If come the morning, I decide I do not wish to travel this path set out by my father, what will become of you?" Thomas asked.  
  
What Thomas could see of Jason's mouth quirked into a tiny smile and the sea of his eyes softened further. "That remained to be see,n but it will be more worthy than slinking off into the waiting night."  
  
"Will you remain here?" Thomas pressed.  
  
"For longer than I would otherwise, certainly," Jason told him. "Rest well, Thomas, for, whatever you will choose, tomorrow brings great change."  
  
Then Jason was gone. Thomas could hear the guards leading him down the hall, after they had glanced through the door to make sure the slave had not harmed the prince. Their progress was punctured by curses aimed at Jason, and once even the sound of a dull thud as something, probably a fist or foot, connected with the body of the slave.  
  
Thomas rose from the bed, taking the blanket with him. He watched the guard lead Jason back to the slave barracks, taunting him all the way. Jason made no response to their abuse, did not even break his stride. Except...  
  
On their way, one of the guards gave a swift kick to the tightly curled body of the boy he had seen earlier. It was hard to detect but Thomas thought he saw Jason tense at that, as if he wished to scoop the battered form into his arms and shield him from farther harm. Thomas felt a similar yearning within himself but knew if he so much as offered a kind word to the slave child he would bear a beating himself. He sighed once and returned to his bed knowing the night he faced would be long and unforgiving.   
  
*****  
  
It was Jason who carried Trip back to the slave quarters. The young man, no longer a boy for he had indeed lost his tenacious hold on innocence this night, was unconscious and unfeeling but he was held ever gently in the strong arms of the teacher-slave.   
  
Jason had not been able to pick up the unconscious boy as the guards escorted him back to the slave barracks though he had desperately wanted to. As soon as the brutes departed he went back on silent feet, carefully cradling the battered form.  
  
He was met at the doors of the barracks by Eric who had gone still in anger and utter, utter hatred. His eyes were wild when they met Jason's deep, dark, angry, blue orbs. His rage blinded him and hung like a thick red drapery over his brain, clouding his thoughts. He took a half step forward as if to make for the palace to seek vengeance on those who had hurt his self appointed ward...  
  
Only before he could take another step Jason had placed Trip's battered form in his arms and Eric looked down out of instinct to study the young man.   
  
His hidden heart clenched within him and, for a moment, his lungs squeezed so painfully he thought he would never breathe again. He took in the damage. It was no more than the beatings the guards usually delivered to Jason only this time it was on a smaller, weaker body that had never bore such torments before. Trip did not have the resistance that Jason had built. He had little to no resistance at all.  
  
Eric's gaze lingered on the slack face that was still awash with the remainders of a torrent of spilt tears.   
  
"He will need you now." Jason's voice was compelling but at the same time eased over Eric like a balm, making him swallow and tuck away his angry...for the time being.   
  
"Ha... Have they...?" Eric knew Trip was an attractive, young, innocent man and that many guards would not hesitate to sate themselves with him.  
  
Jason shook his head once as he let his hand stray to Trip's forehead to brush aside a strand of shaggy, wayward, black hair. "Nay. He has been spared that. The king was present and he does not crave to witness such things."  
  
Eric found a small sigh of relief escaping him. "That is a kindness then."  
  
"It would be kinder still if you stayed with him. He will need you now, more than before. Do not deprive him of that," Jason said seriously.  
  
"No..." Eric looked at Trip's face again; his heart could not take any more loss. "No. Vengeance will have to come later. I cannot leave him now."  
  
Jason nodded once. "Vengeance is misplaced when healing is needed."  
  
Eric's eyes narrowed. "If you think I will allow this to go unpunished you know nothing of me."  
  
"Be patient," Jason cautioned. "The winds are changing, and no matter which direction they come to blow in, he will need you."  
  
Eric scowled as they entered the bunkhouse and he quickly moved to lay Trip on the nearest available bunk. "This is no time for riddles; speak plainly!"  
  
Jason sighed, nodding once as he began to tear strips of one of his old shirts for bandages. "Let us see what tomorrow will bring before you have you revenge. Change is coming. I would have you here to greet it with him." 


End file.
